Sunday, 22 March 2009

Something soppy

I really liked Pasha Malla's response when someone asked how to know if a girl loves them or not?

It really sums things up. Here are some of the most touching and true bits for me:

If she knows what song is coming next on the mix CD you made her: She loves you.

If she puts up with an entire Stars of the Lid album on a long-distance road trip: She loves you.

If she loves you, if she really loves you, you’ll know it.
If you can wake up to her staring at you and it’s not even mildly creepy, if you catch her smelling the shoulder of the hooded sweatshirt you lent her for an autumn walk at the beach, and not for B.O., if she makes you a pancake in the shape of a shark, if she calls you drunkenly at four in the morning “to talk,” if she laughs at your jokes when they’re funny and makes fun of you when they’re not, if she keeps her fridge stocked with Guinness tallboys for when you come over, if she tells you how she wishes she were closer to her sister and that her dad makes her sad:
She loves you, of course she loves you.


Then of course, you have to see if he loves you:

If he stops making you mix CDs and starts loading your iPod with albums he clearly just wants for himself—”to share, baby!”—he loves you. Seriously, the new Stars of the Lid is pretty much a pop record! Don’t delete it! Give the sonic textures a chance!

If on Valentine’s Day he’s out of the country but he paints a life-sized, full-body self-portrait that he has delivered to your door, and there’s a heart on the chest with a little sign that says, “Touch Me,” which then plays a tape of him singing a song about you that he wrote—he loves you.

If he fights a duel for your honor and wins—he loves you.

If you start to get frustrated by how he quotes lines from music, movies, and books as proxies for his own emotions—man, this is just what we do!

And then I love this quote at the end, from Brian Moore’s novel, The Luck of Ginger Coffey:
Love isn’t an act, it’s a whole life. It’s staying with her now because she needs you; it’s knowing you and she will still care about each other when sex and daydreams, fights and futures—when all that’s on the shelf and done with. Love—why, I’ll tell you what love is: it’s you at seventy-five and her at seventy-one, each of you listening for the other’s step in the next room, each afraid that a sudden silence, a sudden cry, could mean a lifetime’s talk is over.

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